


Handcuffs In Budapest

by Tori_Scribbles (orphan_account)



Series: Training Natasha [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Agent Carter mentions, Budapest, Red Room Mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3323051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Tori_Scribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years in the Red Room, the only routine was at night.<br/>Now, free of Russia, the routines harder to break than she thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handcuffs In Budapest

**Author's Note:**

> So after watching the last Agent Carter episode with the Red Room and everything, I randomly got inspired to write this.  
> Natasha presumably would have undergone the same as Dottie in the Red Room, and we know Dottie never did break the habit, so I kinda wanted to know how Natasha did.  
> It's not perfect and if there are any mistakes they are mine, please let me know and I'll change them.

Natasha dumped her kit on the spare bed watching in amusement as Clint dramatically dropped back onto his own.

“How are you not exhausted?” Clint asked.

“I’ve faced worse than that before,” She replied simply.

Clint just groaned. They secured the room before settling down in their separate beds. Clint fell asleep almost instantly bed Natasha lay there on her side, her right hand raised above her head, trying to force herself to sleep with no avail.

This was the first time she’d had to share a room with someone else since she came to SHIELD, it was to insecure. She clutched the post tightly, her nails digging in the wood, it didn’t help. Grabbing a piece of ribbon, she’d worn in her hair earlier that day, she wrapped it tightly around her wrist before setting it back in place.

It wasn’t right though. She needed the anchor, to hold her down. She tossed and turned re tying the ribbon before settling on her side with a groan.

The handcuffs she’d set on the side with her pistol seemed to glint temptingly in the low light.

Sitting up quietly, wincing slightly when the bed creaked. She grabbed the hand cuffs tightening one over the ribbon, still on her wrist.

“Tasha?” Clint groaned, sitting up slightly. Natasha pulled the duvet over her hand to cover the shining metal. “What are you doing?” He asked.

“Nothing. Just getting a drink,” She lied, reaching for her bottle with her left hand. But as she shifted the handcuffs rattled slightly. Clint sat up, looking at her with a calculating expression. Her head dropped, refusing to look at him as he moved across the room. He moved her left hand to the side slightly and carefully pulled back the duvet, a part of him expecting to see a knife.

“Wha-?” The question died on his lips, not entirely sure what he was looking at.

“It’s nothing,” She replied, trying to pull away, but he held her arm firmly in place. He pulled the key of the table, unlocking the cuff and setting it on the bedside table, he unwrapped the black ribbon and ran his finger over the bruised skin.

Natasha watched carefully as he inspected her other wrist, the scars on that wrist, not as obvious as they once were.

Everything seemed to click into place for Clint, Nat always wore long sleeves, except when she trained, then she wore support gloves, that covered her wrists. The first night he spent with her, nearly six months ago, at the motel on the way back to SHIELD, he’d cuffed her hand to a bed, she’d smiled slightly saying “It’s not so different after all,”

“Every night for as long as I can remember, it’d be the same. At first it was so we wouldn't wander off, then it was so we didn't run. It was mostly just our dominant hand, but sometimes it was both. They’d unlock them in the morning. It became routine.

“When we were sent on missions, we were given a spare set. It was a reminder that even though we weren't there, they still owned us, and we couldn't run,” She found herself explaining. “It was the only form of routine we got,” She found herself telling him everything, what they did to her, the serums, wipes, her first kill in a training session, the cold, being re written, all of it. He listened to every word, not interrupting or judging. 

“Natasha,” Clint breathed once she was done, pulling her into a gentle hug. She flinched slightly but, he didn’t pull away, just held her as she relaxed in his arms.  
“I can’t sleep otherwise,” She whispered, ashamed of her weakness, ashamed that the Red Room gave her this weakness.

“It’s okay,” He breathed, his fingers running through her hair softly. He lay her back down and she watched his every move as he lay carefully next to her. She pulled the duvet over him.

“I can’t-,” She whispered but he shushed her gently.

“Give me your hands,” He said quietly, she stared him in the eye, not entirely understanding, but complied. He took both of her wrist, his hands gently wrapping around them, his thumb circling her pulse point. “Go to sleep. You’re safe,”

Natasha gave a soft, genuine smile, because for once she actually felt safe, closing her eyes she fell asleep. In Clint’s arms, in a small motel, in Budapest.


End file.
